


Big Spendin' Buckaroos

by Sailorhathor



Series: Brokeback Mothman [17]
Category: Miracles (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, Lapdance, M/M, Mystery Character(s), POV Outsider, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2504261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailorhathor/pseuds/Sailorhathor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his never-ending quest to epically mess with Paul's head, Dean takes him out to a strip club and buys him a lap dance. There are at least three sides to this story: Paul's, Dean's, and the stripper's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Spendin' Buckaroos

_Brown Eyes_

 

My life used to be pretty routine. At least, that's what I thought.

I was raised in a Catholic orphanage, studied to be a priest, investigated the authenticity of miracles for the church, quit everything when a little boy died to save me and no one believed the sacrifice he made, joined up with the only people who did believe it... and started seeing the dead.

Looking back, I guess none of it sounds routine. But it was my life. A person can get used to a lot of strange things when they're just trying to get by.

That was until I met Dean. Now there's a major life challenge.

He's been spending some time getting over a shoulder injury. The day after he stopped using the sling, Dean poked his head into the office where I work and said he was taking me out for a break. We've been working extra hours lately trying to figure out, well, everything. It's a long and complicated story. But there's a great deal to discuss. Dean seemed a little too happy-go-lucky for someone who'd been at death's door recently, grinning in that way that told me he was up to something.

I should have known.

I looked at my watch. "It's nearly 10 o'clock. Where are we going?"

Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "It's a surprise." Glancing over at Keel, he added, "Doesn't your boss ever let you go home?"

"Sometimes."

Keel looked at us, a small grin on his face. "Only if he's good," he said. Keel also checked his watch. "I guess we have worked enough for today. Feeling better, Dean?"

He gave a nod. "Shoulder's not 100% yet, but it's much better. I drove over here by myself and everything." Dean gestured for me to come on.

"Where's Sam?" I asked.

"I left him back at your place. He wouldn't stop making sarcastic comments about everything on TV. Got on my nerves." Again, Dean made that 'come on' motion. "Let's go get a beer."

I kind of knew Dean wanted more than just a beer, that he'd want to fool around too, and that didn't bother me at all. While he'd been recovering, we hadn't been able to share much more than a kiss, what with Sam hovering over him at all times of the day, and Keel wanting to get everything supernatural that we'd experienced down for the record. We still hadn't even figured out the Mothman thing yet. But people aren't made of stone.

_I'm_ not made of stone.

I'm sure you're thinking right now that this guy is crazy to have ever thought his life is routine. Near-fatal shoulder injuries, supernatural goings-on, the Mothman, and he's dating a guy? Yeah, I guess I am. But like I said, this is my life.

Sometimes I can't deal with it at all. Lately, Dean's been making it easier.

...And harder.

Maybe I need to admit it to myself and just get over it. I'm a Christian, I'm in love with another guy, and I'm struggling with it.

About two weeks ago, Dean was bitten by a supernatural creature called a shriker. That's how his shoulder got injured. Shrikers carry a poison in their saliva, and it almost killed Dean. Luckily, Keel knew how to make the antidote. While ill with a high fever caused by the poison, Dean confessed that he was in love with me. I told him I love him too. He doesn't remember it, any of it. We should talk about our feelings, but I haven't been able to bring myself to tell him what we said.

Truth is, I was starting to feel like I was going to lose it if Dean and I didn't get some time alone. I nearly snapped when Keel tried to invite himself along. "A beer sounds good. Can I come with you?"

I barely contained myself. Dean could see it on my face. He saved the day, as usual. "You already finished transcribing that tape?"

"Which tape?"

"The one of our interview."

Keel and Dean exchanged glances. There was some kind of secret here, something that Dean didn't necessarily want me to know. That bothered me for a second, but then I realized that Keel had wanted to question Dean about his father and their shared supernatural experiences. It could be that there was no secret here at all, just me overreacting.

I really care about this guy, don't I? I'm imagining that he has secrets from me already.

"Oh." Keel smiled at me, awkwardly. Again, it struck me that maybe there was a secret they were keeping, or it could just be that he was embarrassed he hadn't gotten his work done. "No, I haven't fully transcribed that one yet." He straightened up, looking at me. "You're right, I should stay here and get on it."

What a relief. As much as I could appreciate that Keel needed a break too, having him tag along would spoil my time alone with Dean. I stood up and turned off the desk lamp. "See you in the morning, Keel. Don't burn too much of the midnight oil."

"I won't." His hands in his pockets, Keel headed up the stairs, watching us as we went out the main door.

When we got down to Dean's car, it was instant heat, him pressing me up against the door and kissing my lips, arms around me. I held him too, running a hand through his hair and down his back. He put his hands inside my coat so he could feel my body as closely as possible; I loved the way that felt. I suppose if I hadn't tucked my shirt in that Dean's hands would've been inside there as well. At this point, it was a secret relationship, with kisses stolen in the dark against his car and love-making in my bedroom with the door closed. If our relationship wasn't a secret I currently wanted to keep too, I'd probably be offended.

Lord. Would I ever be able to tell Keel and Evie?

Dean pressed into me. My legs spread open a little, he pressed in so close. I liked it that way. I could feel his breath on my lips. We were both breathing a little hard with pent up desire for each other. "I've missed this," he said quietly.

I slipped my hands inside his jacket, trying to find the garment closest to his skin under all those layers of shirt. "Me too." We kissed again. He let out a small moan. "You wanna park somewhere? Have a quickie?"

Dean laughed. "Actually, I don't. Not yet." He grinned at me that way again, that devilish way he had when he was going to do something that would make me nervous. "I've got a surprise for you," he sing-songed.

"What?" I asked with trepidation.

"You'll just have to wait and see." With a wicked laugh, Dean backed up, letting me go. How I hated to not feel his body pressed on mine any more.

"This had better be worth it," I warned.

"Oh..." He reached around me and pulled on the door handle. "...it will be." Dean yanked the door open, smacking me in the ass.

When I saw the neon sign flashing PISTOL PETE'S, LIVE NUDE GIRLS, I could have killed him. "You're taking me to a strip club?" I said in disbelief.

"There's more to this than meets the eye, Metro."

So my cute little nickname had been shortened. "Dean, I am really not in the mood for this."

He was enjoying watching me squirm, I could tell. "Have you ever been in a strip club in your life, Paul?"

I continued, ignoring his joke. "Wouldn't you rather be alone?"

Parking the car, Dean switched the ignition off and looked at me. "We will be alone, eventually." His hand snaked over my knee and up my inner thigh. "But first, there's something I want you to do for me." That hand caressed up and down, up and down. It felt good, made it hard to think about anything else.

Swallowing hard, I asked, "What?"

He leaned over, lips against my ear, warm breath on my neck. "Relax," Dean whispered. "Let me take the lead. I promise you'll like it."

Heaven help me, was I a glutton for punishment, or was he just that good at seducing me? I turned my head and our lips brushed softly against each other. "Okay," I heard myself say, and then I might've moaned as he gently kissed me.

Sucker.

The club was noisy, with loud rock music and flashing lights everywhere. Exactly what I was not in the mood for. At least it was clean. It better be, with a two drink minimum and a $20 cover charge. I thought about that ridiculous sign outside again. "At least there won't be any _dead_ nude girls. 'Cause you know, as Keel says, I'm a medium, and - "

"Don't jinx us." Dean sat at the bar, which was furthest from the main stage. That was fine with me. I had no idea at the time that he put us here on purpose, so he could survey the floor and find us just the right girl for his little surprise. "Two beers, please."

The club had a western motif. Pistol Pete's, blam blam, yarhoo. Cattle skulls on the walls, cowhide-look fabric on all the chairs, all that stuff. Dean seemed to like it. He kept pointing things out as we unwound and drank our beers. On the main stage, a bottle blonde with augmented breasts peeled her clothes off layer by layer. There were two smaller stages to the right and left and they were occupied too. Dean's eyes darted from one stage to another, sometimes surveying the girls walking the floor, sometimes turning to me with a laugh and a clap on the back.

"You enjoying yourself, Metrosexual?"

He hadn't called me that in a while. I smiled. "It's fun watching you. This place is making you get all animated and full of energy." That was the truth. Dean bounced in his seat, turning back and forth to watch every corner of the club at once, a giant grin on his face the whole time. He was like a kid in a candy store.

"You watching the girls at all?"

With a shrug, I replied, "I like 'em a little more natural."

"You do, huh?"

Oh, that tone... "Dean, what are you up to?"

What an impish grin that got in reply. Before I could say anything else, a blonde in a skimpy cowgirl outfit came up with a tray full of Jell-O shots. "You want a shot? For a dollar you can take it this way." She mimed putting the shot glass between her breasts. I could see it getting lost in there, what with the cleavage she was sporting.

Dean chuckled darkly. "Sounds like fun, sweetheart." He dug out a dollar. The waitress buried the shot glass between her breasts and smiled the whole time as Dean lowered his face to the rim, sucked hard, and threw his head back. It looked like he mashed the Jell-O between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. "Woo!" he cried, grinning and chewing.

The waitress turned to me. "Now you, cutie?"

Dean slipped a dollar that was folded in half lengthwise onto her tray. Then he looked at me, a dare in his eyes. I picked up a shot and threw my head back to suck it down. Dean eyed me as I put the glass back upside down, a half smile on my lips.

She leaned in a little, a hand bracing on the bar next to my arm. "The shots are free unless you want to take one the fun way." The waitress mimicked my half smile. "Are you sure you don't want to have some fun?"

Okay, I am made of flesh and blood. She did smell good and everything on her seemed real. I was even close enough to see that her cleavage was covered in glitter. But, the whole cowgirl thing was corny, with the pigtails and the hat, a plaid shirt tied tightly underneath her breasts, incredibly short-shorts, and cowboy boots... Dean definitely liked it. It just wasn't my thing. "I'm sure. I'm sorry, but I don't know you, so it would be disrespectful."

The waitress and Dean both started to laugh, but good-naturedly. "Disrespectful? Honey, do you know where you are?" she asked.

"He brought me in here." I hooked a thumb at Dean. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you kept the dollar, though."

"Thanks." She ran her fingers under my shirt collar, flirting. Even gave my neck a little squeeze. I admit, it felt nice. "Let me know if you change your mind."

The waitress started to leave, but Dean said, "Hold up," and took another shot off her tray. He held it out to me, smirking. "Two drink minimum."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Yeah."

Well, well, an immediate confession. "You know that's not necessary, right?"

Dean grinned; he got it immediately. He didn't need to get me drunk to get me into bed. "I just think it'd be fun," Dean explained.

"Ah." Seemed to me that he wanted me drunk so I'd react better to whatever surprise he had planned. After downing the second shot, I said, "But you have to take it easy. You're driving, remember?"

"Oh please, it takes more than a couple beers to affect me. Besides..." Dean looked me up and down. "...you don't think we'll work it off?"

The waitress was still standing right there. I smiled shyly and ducked my head, a little embarrassed. Dean snickered.

She looked from him to me. "Okay, so, let me know if you need anything." When she passed Dean, the waitress lightly traced his knee with her fingertips, then moved on to other patrons at the bar.

He looked at me, mischief in his eyes. "She likes us."

I couldn't help but shake my head. "She likes money."

Leaning closer to me, Dean said, "You know, it's kinda sexy that you wouldn't take the shot from her tits. You got principles, and I like that."

Would he like the fact that the word "tits" coming from his mouth turned me on? He was sin on legs; dirty talk comes with the package, and I was hopelessly addicted to the package.

Dean put an arm around my neck. "You know, though, the fact that you got principles also makes you delectably corruptible." His breath felt hot on my face and smelled of liquor. "Will you indulge me if I mess with you a little? It would really get me going."

He was oh-so-happy with himself. "Mess with me?"

"It's my surprise."

"It sounds embarrassing."

Patting my chest with his other hand, Dean said, "It might be at first, but I promise, soon you'll be enjoying yourself too much to care."

"What is it?"

"Will you trust me and follow my lead?"

The way he said it, without a hint of defensiveness... instead, his tone was sincere, and almost innocent, like he was truly asking me and not trying to weasel me into anything. I knew this was another one of Dean's romantic challenges, but looking into those guileless green eyes, I would follow him down whatever road he took. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeated, and sucked briefly at his bottom lip. "Do you like that girl?"

"Who, the waitress?"

"Yeah."

I shrugged. "The cowgirl getup is kind of silly."

"If she didn't have that on, what would you think?"

This conversation was going in a direction I couldn't have anticipated. As usual, it made me nervous. "I don't know, she's pretty, I guess. One of the more natural girls in here. Why?"

"Natural?"

I nodded my head toward the main stage. "Most of them are so made up, so... enhanced." We both looked at our waitress, who was delivering a shot to a guy in ratty sweat pants. "Everything about her at least looks real."

"Yeah... her color is natural, and I'm pretty sure the tits are too."

With two fingers on his chin, I swiveled his head back around to look at me and repeated, " _Why?_ "

At first, he just smiled. Then, he said, "I'll be right back."

"What?"

All I could do was watch as Dean slid off his stool and sauntered over to the waitress. My mind went to some extreme places. Was he going to try to get her to come with us? Would this turn into the threesome he'd been talking about? I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could see Dean gesturing toward me and the girl flashing a big, amused grin before nodding her head. I nervously downed three-quarters of my beer way too fast while watching this conversation. When Dean took out a few bills and handed them over to her, my eyes must've grown as big as saucers. What had he just paid this girl, a stranger, to do to me?

Dean walked back over. "Come with me," he commanded.

I started to panic. "How much did you give her? It looked like a lot!"

"Enough," Dean said.

I curled a fist into the front of his shirt and yanked him closer. "Did you just pay that girl to have _sex_ with us?"

He began to chuckle, looking down at my hand. "Are you kidding? This isn't a brothel." As my fingers relaxed, Dean added, "I imagine you'll be getting off, though."

"And why would you say that?" When he didn't answer, only grinned, I said, "Dean? What did you do?"

The grin only widened, but not at my expense. It looked like a grin of fondness, for me. "Are you really that innocent?"

Blinking a few times in bemusement, I finally figured it out. Sort of. "What, is she a stripper too?"

"Looks that way."

"So she's going to dance for us privately?"

Dean grabbed both our beers by the neck. Truth be told, it was my second, and almost finished. "You're getting warmer." He gently took me by the hand, which sent shockwaves of pleasure up my spine. Here we were in a packed strip club, one of the most macho places on earth, and he dared to hold my hand, not even caring if anyone saw... as long as it wasn't Sam. "Come on."

I willingly followed.

There was a separate room off the main one with an electric blue neon sign over the curtained doorway. _Big Spendin' Buckaroos_ , it said. The cursive letters ended in a loop, like a cowboy's lasso. Just as we were reaching this doorway, a woman in a beaded 1920s flapper dress, cut to be more revealing than your usual flapper dress, grabbed hold of my arm.

"Excuse me," she said. "Have you got a token for the tram?" Her accent sounded Irish, and she'd spoken in a friendly tone.

"Huh? No, I'm sorry, I haven't got any tokens."

Dean tugged gently on my hand. "Paul? What'd you say?"

I looked at him. "Does the trolley take tokens now?"

"How would I know?"

When I turned back to her, she was gone. I didn't have time to give her a second thought at that point, as Dean pulled me through the curtains.

The cowgirl was already there, waiting for us. She pointed me toward a booth-style seat with that cowhide-look fabric on it. It was a pretty wide seat, which made me think that Dean would be sitting next to me, but instead, he went for a smaller chair that he pulled over next to the booth and sat down. I took a seat by myself.

The room was pretty dark. Our area was lit by a couple of recessed lights in the ceiling, but I couldn't see the entire room right off. The electric blue neon lighting continued into the room as some sort of theme, with looped lassos running along the wall near the ceiling. I followed some of them with my eyes until I realized that the room was nearly round, and fairly big. It wasn't as loud in here; the music from the main room was just a muffled booming bass sound, and a couple of individual songs played nearby, although not as intrusively. A rather large tattooed gentleman stood just inside the doorway, his bulging forearms crossed over his chest. I assumed he was a bouncer.

"So honey..." She took a little velvet bag off her wrist and set it down on a nearby table. There was a wad of money peeking out of the top. "...is this your first rodeo?"

My eyes had adjusted to the dark. That was when I noticed a couple of identical booths across the room were occupied. Two more strippers gyrated on top of other customers. It was all bucking and swaying hips.

This was a lap dance room.

I was going to kill him.

The "him" in question had turned his chair around before sitting in it backwards and folding his arms over the back, resting his chin on the backrest. Now, he peered at me over his forearms and grinned, looking like a mischievous little boy.

I was more embarrassed than angry. "Dean, did you really - "

Dean put a finger to his lips to shush me. "I don't think he's ever had one before," he said to the stripper.

"Really?" Clearly, she didn't meet many men my age who hadn't. "Then here's your rules, handsome. I can touch you, but you can't touch me. As you're a man with principles, I think I can trust you to stick to the rules."

Dean chuckled behind his arm.

I was feeling the alcohol by then; it was like a lovely warmth in my gut. "Technically, that was only one rule," I said, and glanced at Dean. He grinned with that mischief still twinkling in his eyes. If he was going to mess with me, I could do it right back. "I didn't feel right about taking the shot from between her breasts, and you think _this_ is going to be okay?"

Hands on her hips, she looked and Dean and waited for a response.

Shrugging, Dean said, "So leave."

He knew I wouldn't. At first, the idea of the lap dance freaked me out, but then Dean looked at me that way and the alcohol began to loosen me up, and all I could think about was making love to him in the back of his car. It got me going again. My pants grew a little tighter in the front. The girl was another one of his sexual challenges, something Dean really wanted to see. I understood that it wasn't about her.

It was about watching me writhe underneath her.

Raising an eyebrow, I replied, "No, I think I'll stay. I don't want your money to go to waste." Whatever challenge Dean put me to, I could handle it, because I knew he'd never take me too far. Okay, I may have worried about what he was up to, and made some drastic assumptions, but I always knew in the end that he would look out for me. I wanted to turn him on with this little show he'd arranged. "I didn't realize you were such a voyeur."

Dean slowly got to his feet, stretching a little like a sleek cat, and made his way closer to the booth. Damn, that movement was seductive. His T-shirt rode up a little, and I could see abdominal muscles flexing and rippling sinuously... it just made me want to touch him all over. He spoke to the stripper. "Now, if he gets at all handsy with you, here's a good way to put him in his place." Dean turned to me and suddenly grabbed my wrists, lifting them up over my head and pinning me to the back of the booth. The motion was so quick and hard that the booth bounced against the wall with a loud thump. I gasped and let out this surprised noise that was almost a moan. Heaven help me, I wanted him so bad at that moment. It turned him on to dominate me, and I liked giving him that control. A sweat broke out across my forehead and the back of my neck.

Dean moved his hands over mine and briefly held them, squeezing lightly. Our eyes locked. Because he deserved it, I squirmed a little under his hold, giving Dean a preview of the show to come. My movements made it easier to see the lump forming my pants. Dean eyed my body up and down. "Just like that," he said, before finally letting go and standing up straight again.

When he turned to the stripper, she had a surprised, searching look on her face. A wave of panic swept over me for a second. We hadn't done much up until now to signal the nature of our relationship, except for that little exchange about "working it off" at the bar. For all she knew, we were just a couple of buds who had stopped in for a good time. How would she react now that she had an idea that we were involved? Erotically pinning your friend down by the wrists wasn't exactly something straight guys did to each other.

I know I shouldn't have, but I used my empathy to dip into her mind, for just a short time. She looked from Dean to me. Confusion. The confusion deepened and she looked at me again, sharply. Then a knowing smile came to her face. I felt her emotions spike as they turned to something resembling amusement. A warmth spread through her emotional center; that meant positive feelings. I wasn't sure why at that moment. I surmised later that it was because she knew exactly how to play us once she realized we were together.

"I'll keep that in mind, honey," the stripper said, responding to Dean's "advice." He went back over to his chair, turned it around the right way, and took a seat as close to the booth as possible. "You ready?"

This was really about to happen. Those feelings of embarrassment came back, along with the question of whether or not I'd be disrespecting this woman by letting her service me for money. But I wasn't turning back now. I gave her a nod to go ahead.

Thinking back about it, I feel kind of guilty at how I allowed this woman to objectify herself for my and Dean's pleasure. Heck, I've counseled exotic dancers at the church. In my experience, they're not all damaged women who strip to work out their childhood issues with Daddy. I know this. But when I think of how far I let this go... I need to remember that I've got a moral side and a fallible, human side. When you're worked up sexually, you allow a lot of things that may seem uncharacteristic of you otherwise. I just hope she didn't think Dean and I were pigs.

"Great, I'll just put on some music." She went over to a stereo console with an iPod port, chose a song on the iPod, and turned back to where we were sitting. A song I've never heard before started up. It had a soothing, smooth rhythm with a hypnotic beat. She almost immediately began to sway to it, making her way across the floor.

Maybe it was a strange thing to do, but I couldn't help but talk to her. After all, I just met the woman and she was about to rub her crotch against mine. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Dixie." She put a hand on the back of her head and waved her hips back and forth to the music. I have to admit, it was sexy. She knew how to move in that sinuous manner that spoke of nothing less than instant seduction.

Still, I just couldn't shut up. "Is that your real name?"

"Are those your real eyelashes?" Dixie retorted.

Dean snickered. "They are rather lush for a man."

I smacked his knee with the back of my hand. "Pot calling the kettle black."

Dixie took off her cowboy hat. "Sorry baby, but Dixie's all you need to know." As she drew closer to us, she put the hat on Dean's head. Then she put both hands behind her neck and danced in front of me in a provocative pose, breasts presented nicely, hips rolling like waves.

"I'm sorry. It's just I hardly know you, and... uhhh..." I reached out with my empathy again, but realized it wasn't going to tell me what I wanted to know. Dixie looked at me with furrowed brow, almost halting in her movements, until I pulled it back. Oh God, she could feel me pawing through her mind. I've found that sometimes, people can feel it, and sometimes, they can't. We were lucky she had no idea what it was. Still, I reached out again and sent her the suggestion that she felt calm, that there was nothing to freak out about. It seemed to work. God, I've got to stop doing that. It's not right. I kept talking to shift the attention away from what I had just done. "Why do you strip? Does it have anything to do with some traumatic life experience? Because I have friends at the church who do free counseling. I could - "

I stopped when I heard Dean laughing. "Oh, Paul," he said. "You are too much."

Dixie chuckled a bit too and rolled her eyes. "No, no trauma here. I do it because I like it. And I'm good at it." She winked at me. "Money's pretty good too." Leaning over the booth, Dixie ran her fingers through the hair on the side of my head. "It's sweet that you're concerned about me, really it is. But you don't have to be worried. I'm not a broken little girl." As if to demonstrate one of the perks of the job, Dixie knelt in front of me, ever-swaying her hips as she went down, and caressed both my knees - it seemed like a position of subservience, but she had every bit of the control and dominance. Her hands moved up and down my thighs slowly, sometimes on top and sometimes in between them. It reminded me of Dean stroking my thigh in the car, and I started to get pretty excited, erection ever growing. "You're both really hot," she said, eyes full of mischief and delight. "This will be my pleasure."

"Woo!" Dean suddenly cried. He pushed the cowboy hat back on his head, watching her hands move.

Prolonging the fun, Dixie stood up and swayed her body to the music again. She danced like she felt every note of the song, that mesmerizing, smooth beat.

As if he read my mind, Dean remarked, "This is some serious porn music right here. What is it?"

"'Sparks' by Royksopp," she replied, like we'd know it. "It's got an excellent beat, huh?"

"It's like fucking set to music," he said.

"I know. It's got the perfect rhythm for a lap dance." Dixie demonstrated by undulating her hips in a series of slow waves, like she might do if she was straddling a man's hips, eyes closed. Dean and I both couldn't take our eyes off her when she did it. As he was to my left, he slid his right hand up my thigh and began stroking it again without even looking. My breathing quickened. The sweater was getting way too hot to wear anymore. I wished Dean could strip it off me.

When she opened her eyes, Dixie watched Dean's hand make lazy circles on my inner thigh, getting dangerously close to my crotch, and grinned. She began untying her top.

Every movement she made was slow, prolonged for maximum tease. Dean let out a little moan and a, "Mmm, yeah baby," when she rubbed at her chest through the shirt before shedding it, revealing a pink lacy bra. Dixie moaned too, feeling herself up. It was a brief sound, but it was enough.

What she did next should have been lewd, but Dean and I were already worked up enough that anything sexual Dixie did simply turned up the heat. However, I won't describe it; that goes too far into the realm of disrespect. I'm sure that sounds totally stupid since she was there to give me a lap dance, but what can I say? It makes sense to me.

The shorts came off, revealing a pink G-string with shiny sequins. Dixie kicked the shorts aside. When she unsnapped the bra, I had already been taken so far that I wasn't so embarrassed anymore. She was beautiful and sexy and completely seducing both of us. The fact that right as she reached for the bra hooks, Dean palmed me through my jeans and began to knead at my crotch didn't help either.

"Dean," I moaned, feeling the heat of my flushed face. He leaned over and kissed me. I couldn't have cared less if anyone else saw that. By now, Dean was breathing hard too.

Dean told me later that some peeper standing over by the door just stared at us while Dean was groping me, and when we kissed. The bouncer took him out. I didn't notice. I was a little, uh, preoccupied.

Dixie laid down on the floor and did that thing again that I don't want to describe. Maybe I'm a hypocrite not to describe it considering that I responded favorably to it, but whatever.

When she got up and crawled toward me, I knew it was time for the main event. Or maybe I just hoped it was. At that point, I wanted release. Dixie ran her hands up my legs and over my thighs again. She intertwined her fingers with Dean's, stealthily extracting his hand from my crotch so she could put her mouth there instead. I cried out so loud I embarrassed myself. My jeans never came off, Dixie just pressed her face into my crotch, mouthing at the outline of my hardening member and making aroused moaning sounds. At this point, I was panting so hard I'm sure I could be heard all over the room. She climbed up into my lap, straddling me.

Then she mimicked what Dean had done, taking my wrists and pinning my arms above my head, just not as forcefully as he had. Dean hissed through his teeth. Dixie's breasts hovered right in my face until she settled herself back down again and began to buck in my lap slowly and methodically, to the rhythm of the song. It felt like making love. I responded so quickly that I was almost instantly as hard as I could get.

The empathy got a little out of control here. My arousal started to rebound to Dean and his back to me, and I think somewhere in there that I might have sent some of what both of us were feeling to Dixie. How embarrassing. I couldn't help it.

Lord, I wanted so much not to draw attention to myself, but I couldn't keep quiet. It felt so good and I was so worked up. Dean squirmed in his seat. He wanted to get involved very much, but had no idea how. Dean wound up resting his arms and head on the curved armrest of the booth to watch. "Oooooh," he mouthed at me. I reached over and stroked his cheek. When I took my hand back, Dixie mimicked what I had done, and then ran her fingers through his hair. Oh, she knew exactly how to work both of us. I had no reason to feel like I was taking advantage of her. The woman could take care of herself.

At that point, I was practically helpless against her. Dixie kept up the rhythm while running her hands over my chest and sides. "Mmmm, baby," she moaned, like it was just as good for her too. I knew that wasn't true, that it was part of the act, but it still turned me on to listen to her.

I was almost there. I knew Dean could hear it in my voice, how the moans were becoming more desperate, my breathing even quicker. He couldn't touch Dixie, but he could touch me, so Dean took hold of my nearest hand, squeezing it lightly. That turned me on more than anything that was happening in my lap. Here I had this girl gyrating against me and he was simply holding my hand again, the most innocent expression of love that exists.

Dixie held my face in her hands and bucked against me harder and faster; it only took a few more strokes and I was having an orgasm. Dean sat up straight when I hissed and cried out, drinking in every visual and auditory bit of stimulation I was giving him. It felt like I held my breath for several minutes before I finished and I could let it out with a huff and a sound that was almost a whine. Dixie slowed her movements, working me through it. She kissed my cheek.

"That was nice, honey," she told me. I could hardly move as she got up; my legs were like wobbly newborn foal legs.

Dean leaned forward to stroke my knee. He whispered, "That was super, super hot. Mmmm." Kissing the side of my mouth, Dean nuzzled me before going in his pocket for his wallet.

Dixie came back over, her clothes in her hand. She leaned over and kissed Dean's cheek too. "Come back soon, cuties. Okay?"

Dean handed her another twenty. She tucked it in her little wrist bag. "Thanks, that was great," he said.

The feeling started to come back into my legs, but they were still wobbly. I realized that the song she'd put on was still playing; how long was it anyway? I also realized that the flapper girl I'd seen earlier was now sitting in a booth near the door, staring at me. How humiliating.

"Did you have a good time, then?" she asked, and giggled behind her hand.

I tried to find my voice. "Does your friend not understand the etiquette around here?" I said to Dixie, attempting to keep my voice low.

She looked around. "Which friend?"

"The girl dressed as a flapper."

Dixie looked where I indicated the friend should be. Of course, I should have known. The flapper wasn't there anymore.

Instead of treating me like I was nuts, Dixie looked at Dean and I and giggled. "Oh, you saw our ghost."

"Ghost?"

"Yeah. There's some ghost stripper from the '20s who hangs around here all the time. I saw her once. Red hair, set in waves?"

I nodded. Apparently, the club did have a dead girl. I'm just glad she wasn't nude.

"Aren't you lucky," Dixie declared.

Dean took hold of my arm, trying to pull me up. "Lucky?" I asked.

Giggling again, Dixie said, "The legend goes that when you see the flapper, it means you're going to get laid that night." She looked from me to Dean.

I also looked at Dean. Such heat in his eyes... the legend was right.

*****

There was no point in trying to clean myself up yet; we barely made it to the car before Dean was pressing me up against it again, kissing and groping.

"Let's get in. Someone might see," I said. Most of the guys around strip clubs weren't exactly going to be kind to two men making out if they saw us. "We should find another place to stash the car while we..."

Eyes wide, Dean realized at that moment that I had every intention of getting it on with him in the car. Apparently, he hadn't been sure I would be comfortable with it. "I don't know if I can wait. You should have seen yourself in there with that girl, getting you off... Damn, you are just full of surprises."

"But you'd like a little more anticipation..." I opened the driver's side door. "...wouldn't you?"

Dean continued to breathe hard from thinking about it. There was a sizable lump in the front of his jeans. "There's a park two blocks from here. No one'll be there this time of night." He scurried into the car. "Are you coming?"

It wasn't a long drive, but I made good use of it by teasing Dean like he'd teased me. I stroked his thigh the whole way. He just panted and made a humming-moaning sound until we pulled up under a tree and he killed the engine. Then, he was all over me.

"Back seat, back seat," he said, and we climbed over.

Dean quickly stripped off his jacket, plaid over-shirt, and T-shirt, throwing them every which way in the car. There was more kissing, and then I took off my coat. Yanking at my clothes, Dean managed to get my shirt untucked and pulled off my sweater. I grabbed his wrists and wrestled them up over his head like he had done to me, pinning them to the car seat. Dean nipped at my mouth as I went in for another kiss. It became a deep, sensuous tongue kiss that lasted more than a minute. We explored each other's mouths, Dean sitting with me straddling his lap.

"You wanna lap dance, mister? Huh?" I rubbed my crotch against his. He moaned, all needy and full of heat. "I cannot believe you did that."

"I'd pay to see it again. You, so innocent and helpless against the big bad stripper's feminine wiles. That was all real. You've really never had a lap dance before." Dean paused as we shared a few kisses. "I bet you've never even stepped foot in a strip club before tonight."

"Only when I took a wrong turn." We shared a laugh, but I was lying. Some friends in college dragged me to a strip club one night, and I did stay for an hour or so. However, Dean wouldn't have been at all surprised to know that I left early. You're exposed to a lot of bad in the adult entertainment industry when you do counseling for the church. So many people who can't reconcile what they do for a living with their religious beliefs... at least on Sundays.

"You have no idea how hot and sexy you looked squirming in ecstasy in that chair. I could've watched that all day," Dean said breathlessly.

I let go of his wrists and made a show of looking him up and down. "I can imagine how hot and sexy it looked."

With a growl, Dean grabbed my ass, pulling my hips against his. I tried to get a hold of his wrists again, playing with him, and while I chuckled, he kept growling. We wrestled for control briefly, but he's stronger than me, and I always intended to give him the upper hand anyway. Dean pushed me over onto my back on the seat and pinned me for a few seconds; when he was sure I wasn't going to resist, he slid my shirt up my chest and kissed his way down to the waist band of my jeans. I panted, lying there as he undid my jeans and yanked everything down and off, although they got stuck at my ankles since my shoes were still on. This gave me the chance to have another good chuckle while Dean worked at my clothes; soon one shoe thumped to the floor and the other got lost somewhere in the tangle of jeans and underwear.

I hadn't had a chance to clean up after the lap dance. Dean just leaned down and immediately took my erection in his mouth, licking off any ejaculate that was left. This made me cry out, as although I had been getting turned on again, it was still a sudden bit of stimulation. Once he felt that was done, Dean fumbled in his discarded jacket and brought out a small bottle. I barely got a glimpse of it, but I recognized the color of the label - it was one of our favorite warming lubricants. The stuff felt incredible.

Dean took the time to squirt some in his hand and rub my hardness down with it. It responded instantly, getting harder, making me moan headily. He then undid his jeans and pushed them down off his hips, underwear too. Breathing even harder, Dean stroked himself with his lubed hand. The cap went on the bottle, the bottle was tossed on the floor, and Dean wiped his hand on his jeans before diving on top of me, wedging his body between my legs. I angled my lower half just right and he slid up inside me. We both moaned at how deep he went, hitting just the right spot; my spine lit up with explosions of pleasure.

"Is it okay? Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No pain; it's great," I moaned out. And it was. That warm, wet heat surrounding his manhood inside me, filling me...

I wrapped one leg around his waist and he put a hand behind my head, cradling it. The other hand held my left wrist down over my head for just a few seconds before he slipped his hand into mine. Dean was holding my hand during our love making. We'd never done that before. I felt so close to him at that moment. Intertwining my fingers with his, I chased his panting mouth until we were kissing, needy but slow, gentle kisses as he slid in and out of me just as gently. The love I felt for him was so strong in me that I thought my heart might burst from the ache.

This definitely wasn't casual sex. Maybe it had never been. It was true that even the first time we made love, Dean had been there because he wanted to take care of me.

The window above my head began to fog up. A deeply humid heat surrounded both our bodies, making us sweat. That electric fire inside me, shooting up my spine every time Dean thrust in, it remains the greatest pleasure I've ever felt.

Near climax, he panted hot into my neck, body shaking harder against me. "Ahhh... aaahhh... Paul..." right into my ear. I don't think there will ever come a day that I get tired of hearing that.

A street light towered over the car; as I was facing up, I saw the shadow pass over us as someone walked by. They stopped for a second, maybe looking, and then hurried off. I started to warn Dean - what if it was a police officer? But at that moment, his movements quickened and moaning intensified. Both of his hands moved to my hips, holding me steady so he could control the faster rhythm. The car seat squeaked underneath us with every hard thrust.

"Paul, Paaaaul, you're - " Dean froze, cried out my name louder, and came inside me. His hips bucked fast and hard, nursing the orgasm to its conclusion. I couldn't do anything but close my eyes and ride it out, the pleasure becoming so fierce that my ears rang for several seconds. These feelings only intensified when I came on his chest and mine. I was aware that I was moaning with his every stroke, but the sounds were far away. Slowly, sound seeped back in, and we laid there and panted.

I angled my head back so I could see a little of what was outside the car. The window above my head was fogged along the bottom edge, but I could still see that no one had their face pressed against the glass. Dean distracted me again by kissing and nipping at my exposed neck.

"Mmm, that was great, baby," he purred. "I can't believe you came too. I didn't even touch you."

"Your stomach was rubbing against me."

"Oh."

"And you were... you know how it feels..."

I could hear the wicked smile in his voice. "How it feels when I'm inside you."

Nodding, I said, "Yeah."

"It's cute that you don't want to say the words. I know there's a little minx in there somewhere, but he only comes out when he wants to," Dean chuckled.

I rolled my eyes. He's always talking about that _minx_ thing.

We kissed a few more times, small, loving kisses. When Dean started to pull out, I held my leg around his bottom and kept him down a little longer. We both had a laugh. "Sometimes I wish you never had to pull out," I told him. "You, inside me... feels natural." God, what was I saying?

Dean shut up my conscience by planting the most intense, romantic kiss on my mouth that I think I've ever felt. At least, it was since the last time he kissed me like that. My heart fluttered in my chest. There had been many passionate kisses since we'd met. What were we doing here? Where was this going to lead? When he broke the kiss, we just lay there, brushing our lips together and trying to catch our breath while we both wanted so badly to say how we really felt.

At least, I wanted to say it. Why was I so afraid to talk about it?

Dean started to get up again and this time, I didn't pin him down. We had to go home sometime. He leaned over the seat and got some napkins out of the glove compartment so we could clean up. The weariness of two orgasms settled into my bones. I felt loose and relaxed in Dean's afterglow. I would have loved to help him clean up in the most intimate way possible, but it might have just gotten us started again. We both sat up and started to gather our clothes.

As I was putting my pants back on, I remembered what I had seen. "Did you see that shadow?"

"I might've seen a quick flash of something move across you, blocking that light..." He pointed to the street lamp. "...but I was a little distracted at the time."

I couldn't help but grin.

Dean put his T-shirt on, then peered out the window. "I don't see anybody."

"Maybe it was just a bird."

"As long as it wasn't a cop," he said with a laugh.

It was like he read my mind.

"I really want to snuggle with you tonight," I said in a low voice. "How can we make this happen?"

"Hmm. Sam's not going to buy another empathy headache, I don't think." Dean thought it over. "The Jack in the Box restaurants around here have 24 hour drive-throughs, don't they?"

"Uhh, they're at least open late. Why?"

"We'll go by there and get some late night munchies. Sam loves their tacos. But, here's the kicker: they give him gas. So I'll say, 'Oh no, I can't sleep in here with you tonight, Gassy McGaserton. I better bunk with Paul, who had the good sense to get something less fart-inducing.'" Dean nudged my arm.

I couldn't help but laugh. "You're a genius. I think."

He grinned from ear to ear, very satisfied with himself.

That's exactly what we did, and it worked like a charm. While I lay there with Dean in the dark, I couldn't stop thinking about what was going to happen next. Dean was used to life on the road. We had a case for him to work; in fact, it was so involved that it could keep him busy for months to come. Would he want to stay that long?

He said he loved me. But did he still feel that way now that he wasn't at death's door?

God help me, I'm in trouble.

*****

_Rebel_

 

So there's this guy in Boston, and I haven't known him long, but he's changing things in me. _Things_ , man. Serious things. Like my bi side has reared its ugly head again. I thought I had tamed it after Billy, that it was barely there anymore, but now this dude is taming _me_. Not something that I ever bargained for when Sam disappeared and the Mothman led me here. The fucking _Mothman_.

Oh wait, I sound like a loon. You have no idea what's going on. No time to explain, get in the car! You'll just have to go along for the ride.

I don't want my brother to know about the dudes... the dudes I've been with. He has no idea, and what would he think? Forget it, I don't even want to think about it. The less he knows, the better. It's not like he's some macho homophobe or anything; in fact, Sam's ten times as touchy-feely and free-thinking as I am. He recycles and shit. But I'm his big brother, you know? It's different when it's someone you look up to, isn't it?

Guess I'm scared to find out. So, we keep it a secret. Honestly, that makes it kind of exciting. I know Paul won't like it like that forever, though. He's all honest and crap. That's his name, Paul.

I think I'm in love with him.

Wow, that was easier to say than I thought it would be.

I've been laid up with a shoulder injury, so when it finally healed enough to lose the sling, I told Sammy I was going to get Paul and bring him home.

Home. It should feel weird to call some guy's apartment 'home,' but that's getting easier too.

Paul and his boss, Keel, were working on our case, the one involving the Mothman and about a billion other problems. Seeing as it was nearly ten, Keel finally took the ball and chain off and let Paul go, but not before trying to weasel his way into coming with us. I couldn't have that.

Oh, no. We couldn't have that. Not with the little surprise I had planned.

I was taking Paul out to a strip club and buying him a lap dance. Crazy, huh? If you knew how straight-laced Paul can be, you'd know how funny this idea was. And how goddamn sexy. I had no idea how he would react. I mean, I didn't want him to do all the things I asked him to just because I wanted him to do them. I wanted him to enjoy having his limits stretched. It's fun to challenge him, like an adult game of Truth or Dare. I can tell when I've pushed him too far and when he's enjoying the edge I've pushed him to. At least, I hope I'm interpreting his signals correctly. I doubt he'd keep holding on if what he really wanted to do was let go.

I do admit, though, that sometimes I mess with Paul because he's so damn corruptible. That's not saying that I want to change him; he's too cute with a little bit of a stick up his ass. I just wanted that challenge of seeing how dirty he'd get when no one else was looking.

So, no. No Keel. Just like I don't want Sam to know, Paul doesn't want the people he works with to know about us either.

Someday, this may all come crashing down around us and everyone will find out. But that's not today.

To keep Keel at home, I brought up the recording we'd made a little while ago, where he interviewed me about my "paranormal experiences." I wound up talking most about Billy, but we also discussed the dreams I've been having, especially the one where Paul's dead mother shows up... alive. That's not something I want Paul to know yet. I mean, can you imagine? His father has the ability to raise the fucking dead. At least, that's one theory. If there's some way we can avoid this meeting altogether...

Anyway, it was a recording Keel needed to transcribe when Paul was not around. The sooner, the better - that's not exactly a subject you wanted to put on the shelf and forget about, right? It worked two-fold. Not only did Keel get to work on the transcription, but he also didn't come with us to... wherever we were going.

This would be the part where I'd wink at you if you could see me.

When we reached my car, I couldn't help but move in real close and have a good kiss-n-grope. Paul wears these sweaters all the time over a dress shirt. Sometimes it's a vest, sometimes it's a full sweater. At first, I didn't like how they looked on him, but as of late, I've started to like them for how they feel. All fuzzy and soft, with firm warmth underneath. It has started to drive me crazy, running my hands over those textures, feeling him quiver under the various layers of clothing.

Then Paul put his arms around me and cupped the back of my head, kissing me with just as much enthusiasm as I was giving him... YOW! So hot! We didn't even have any clothes off yet and I already felt like I could get off from just that. How could somebody so uptight and innocent be so goddamn sexy?

Paul cocked his legs open a little, allowing me to snuggle in real close. Part of me wanted to stay there and get us both off from rubbing against each other. There are so many pleasurable ways to get off, aren't there? They never seem to get old with Paul, not a one. Especially when he's always so full of surprises. Like what he said next.

"You wanna park somewhere? Have a quickie?"

I couldn't help but laugh. That word, coming out of that mouth... very unexpected. "Actually, I don't. Not yet," I replied, and added that I had a surprise for him. When he asked me what, I told him he'd have to wait. I imagine Paul could tell it was a naughty surprise from how I snickered in my special way, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Then I smacked him in his gorgeous little bubble butt with the car door.

When he spotted the neon sign of Pistol Pete's, you should have seen his eyes. If looks could kill... I just wanted to laugh and laugh. Only Sammy does better bitch faces. Oh yes, Paul, I am taking you to a strip club. But wait, you have no idea what all we're going to do besides watch the girlies take off their clothes. Ohhhh, so many fun things to do at Pistol Pete's, blam blam, yarhoo!

As I parked the car, Paul kept bitching about not wanting to go inside, so I gave him a little persuasion. I leaned over, groping his thigh and whispering in his ear about how I wanted him to do something for me. That heat came back into his eyes. I love that look, that lustful, half-lidded look that says Paul is loosening up, Paul is turned on and needs me to get him off, especially since he is wandering into unfamiliar territory. _Lead me through it,_ that look says. _Take me to new heights. Only you can do it._

Shit, how I love to seduce him. He makes it so exciting. He even moaned helplessly when I placed a little kiss on his mouth, a reward for playing along.

There were things about this club that made it like every other strip club in America - the neon signs and flashing lights - and other things that made it special, like the western theme. Pistol Pete's was decorated with cow-print suede seat covers and distressed wood, along with cow skulls and these lassos made with neon lights. You could get your picture taken with a stripper which was then printed on a Wanted poster. The bathrooms were labeled Cowboys and Cowgirls. Yeah, I've been here before. You'd think with a theme like this that they would mostly play country music, but the strippers pick their own stuff, so it usually winds up being rock and metal tunes. "Cherry Pie" by Warrant was the current hair band song booming through the speakers. We sat at the bar so I could look for a girl, just the right girl, for Paul's lap dance. He made some kind of funny joke about it being a good thing that the club had only _live_ nude girls since if there were any _dead_ nude girls, they'd probably bother him (he's a medium), and I laughed. We got a couple of beers and started to loosen up.

A suicide blonde with big fake titties stripped on the main stage. Naw, not her. Paul would never go for a girl like that. Mostly, he just watched me at first, so I probably had to pick the girl for him.

That's when she came toward us. A cute little blonde, natural this time, dressed in a skimpy cowgirl outfit and carrying a tray of Jell-O shots. Her tits looked real too. Sure, they were squished together and spilling out of a nice push-up bra, but they were real. She kinda looked like Bridget. Bridget was a friend and fuck buddy of mine from my misspent teenage years. Yeah, she would do quite nicely.

"You want a shot? For a dollar you can take it this way." The waitress mimed putting the shot glass between her tits. Ah, strip club etiquette. Gotta love it. Where else could you suck a shot from between two gorgeous boobs like these and it be encouraged? Only thing better would have been fucking 'em, but I doubt local laws allowed that.

Of course, I did it. I wondered if she was just a waitress or if she did private dances too and just couldn't ask us outright if we wanted one for some reason. Hey, I got news for ya baby, we're a sure thing. Her cleavage had been painted with glitter and smelled of something strawberry-scented. Nice touch. I demonstrated for Paul just how hard I can suck by siphoning the glob of lime Jell-O out of the glass without touching it (he probably already knows just how hard, though). The girl turned to Paul and asked if he wanted to try one too.

Looking at him suggestively, I waited to see if he'd dare to take the shot the same way I had. Then Paul did just what I expected and kind of hoped he would do - he refused. Instead, Paul picked the glass up off the tray and threw his head back to suck the shot out. Mmm, damn, so fucking alluring. I could have watched him do that on repeat. Those soft, succulent lips wrapped around the rim, opening up to suck in the Jell-O, and the way he looked at me when he put the shot glass back upside down, a challenge in his soft brown eyes. The fact that he _wouldn't_ let me push him further than he wanted to go turned me on much more than if he had done it.

The waitress, who eventually gave us the name 'Dixie,' asked Paul if he was sure he didn't want to take another shot from between her tits. This was when he blew my mind.

He actually said, "I'm sorry, but I don't know you, so it would be disrespectful."

Disrespectful! Did he know where he was? Did he have any idea what sort of things this girl did to men on a nightly basis? I had to laugh. Dixie made the comment I wanted to make, about Paul knowing where he was, and he blamed it all on me.

I decided that he would probably deal with my surprise a little better if he was at least a little drunk, and besides, it would be fun to see Paul drunk under circumstances such as these. When our waitress started to walk away, I snatched up another shot and reminded Paul that there was a two drink minimum. Two drink minimum meant two shots!

Looking at me with amused suspicion in his eyes, he asked, "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Yeah," I said.

"You know that's not necessary, right?"

I couldn't help but grin at that; we were going to get it on whether he was drunk or sober, but that wasn't why I was trying to get him to drink. "I just think it'd be fun," I said. Yeah, fun to watch him get that lap dance.

Paul actually did it. He gulped down the second shot. Afterwards, he reminded me to take it easy on the alcohol because I was driving, and I took the chance to make a really naughty joke right in front of the waitress. "Oh please," I said, "it takes more than a couple beers to affect me. Besides..." I gave his body a good once-over with my eyes, tracing every curve. "...you don't think we'll work it off?"

That embarrassed Paul so much. He grinned and looked down while our waitress just stared at us. It was adorable.

She left with a light groping for both of us. It was fun.

If I could have jumped Paul's metrosexual fucking bones right there, I would have. Man, was it sick that his uptight principles turned me on? He's just so unreal. In this day and age, to find a guy that would behave like a gentleman after a slutty cowgirl makes a pass at him? That's a special deal right there.

I put an arm around Paul's neck and tried to talk him into my dirty little surprise. His breath smelled of liquor. The idea of Paul being even a little drunk... hot DAMN. Was there anything about this guy that didn't drive me crazy? He doesn't seem like a blackout drunk type, not like me from time to time. But I think he'd let me get him more than a little tipsy, maybe to the point that he'd be stumbling into my arms and giggling and I could "take advantage" of him. I could even picture him with his eyes unfocused, looking up at me... I'd be looming over him on the bed... and he'd want it, he would obviously want it so bad... mmmmm, such an exciting mental picture. Just thinking about it got me hot under the collar. We're going to do that next time!

Anyway, we went back and forth a bit as I tried to get a sense of how Paul felt about Dixie. Turned out she didn't totally gross him out, he just didn't like the cowgirl getup. He really wanted to know why I was asking all those questions about her; it even got to the point that he grabbed my chin and made me look him in the eye while he again said, "Why?"

Of course, I didn't tell him. Ooh, I could feel his eyes burning holes in my back when I slid off the stool and approached the girl. What he must've thought! Dixie saw me coming and said, "Hi handsome. What can I do for you?"

"You want to have a little fun?"

I actually thought that her response was genuine. "I'm always up for a little fun, especially with guys as cute as you and your friend."

"Yeah, I bet you meet some real losers in here."

A guy in ratty sweat pants standing nearby heard me and walked away with a scowl.

"Sometimes. Most of 'em are okay, but few of them look as good as you."

I grinned at her. "Are you available for a lap dance?"

"Sure! You got any special requests, baby?"

Ah, so she wasn't just a waitress. I gestured to Paul. "I want you to give it to him while I watch. Treat him real nice." For a second, I wondered if she'd realize Paul and I were _together_ together, but if she did, it didn't seem to faze her.

Dixie giggled, some disbelief in her tone. "Are you sure that wouldn't violate his principles?"

We both had a brief but good laugh. "He'll loosen up, I promise."

"Okay. It'll be no hardship with him either. You're both really hot."

Again I imagined how much fun it would be to fuck her tits and considered asking for her phone number. Maybe later. We negotiated a decent price and I paid her before heading back over to Paul.

Oh, was he livid! Paul even grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me closer like he was going to deck me or something. "Did you just pay that girl to have _sex_ with us?" he asked.

I told him no, but he was getting warmer! After a little more arguing, I got him to release his death grip on his stool and come with me to the Big Spendin' Buckaroos room (the room for lap dances). Just as we got there, Paul stopped. I thought he was stalling, but he asked me something about the trolley; that was too damn bizarre to be a stalling technique. Apparently some broad in a flapper dress had asked him for a trolley token. We found out what all that meant later.

Dixie was waiting for us in the lap dance room. She got Paul to sit down on a booth seat that was wide enough to accommodate him and her when she mounted him. Oh man, I couldn't wait! Bewildered in the cutest way possible, he just looked at me when I didn't take a seat next to him.

I had a tough time holding back a good chuckle when Dixie asked Paul if this was his first "rodeo." Metrosexual wised up and finally realized he was about to get a happy lap. Ooh, the look that got me! Another hilarious bitch face! I thought the top of his head might fly off. "Dean, did you really - "

Shushing him, I told Dixie this was probably his first lap dance. I was pretty sure I was right in this case. Paul had shocked me before with the lost bondage weekend in college; maybe he had been gang-lap-danced by a bunch of biker strippers or something. But no, the look on his face told me everything.

Dixie gave him the rules, the standard don't-touch-me-or-a-bouncer-will-rip-your-arms-off speech (How many of us had to learn that the hard way?), and made a pretty good joke about being able to trust him because he was a man with principles.

This was when I realized that Paul was a little drunk; by the time we got to the lap dance room, he had downed two beers and two shots. He slurred his speech a tiny bit when he let her know that that had been only one rule. How cute. We glanced at each other and exchanged smirks. Paul was going through with this! SCORE! I couldn't wait to watch him writhe underneath her.

Paul started to tease back, making a few comments about possibly leaving, but begrudgingly agreed to stay with the remark, "I didn't realize you were such a voyeur."

Oh, really? Two could play this game. I stood up and stretched, giving Paul a good show (Who's the voyeur now?), and sauntered over until I stood before him. I told Dixie, "Now, if he gets at all handsy with you, here's a good way to put him in his place," then grabbed Paul by the wrists, lifted them up over his head, and slammed them back against the seat. It obviously surprised him; he gasped and his eyes went wide. He made this really arousing moany noise that made me want to climb on top of him. Judging by the way Paul looked at me, he wanted the same thing. He even dared to squirm in the seat like his pants were suddenly too tight. Maybe they were. We shared a little moment there for a second, then I let him go.

When I turned to Dixie, I saw the surprised look on her face. She looked from me to Paul and back again. Oh crap. Pinning your friend down by the wrists and practically slobbering as that friend writhed and moaned for you wasn't something straight dudes did - it was something lovers did.

Dixie looked at Paul strangely, examining him for some reason. Then I felt it too. Paul psychically brushed by me in my head. He was using his empathy on her. Good job, Einstein! If bisexuality is going to freak her out, how's she going to react to psychic mind intrusions? Luckily, she had no idea what was happening and eventually grinned to herself. A-ha! Dixie felt she had us. The bisexuality didn't gross her out; on the contrary, it gave her a way to play on what we liked to get a better tip. My favorite, a resourceful stripper!

Dixie put on some music and began to dance. I'd never heard the song before, but wow, it was perfect. Total boom-chicka-wow-wow porn music. Some songs have that beat, the kind that you could keep time with while having a good, slow fuck. It only made the girl's movements all the more tantalizing. She told us the song title was "Sparks" by some European band with a name I couldn't pronounce even if Paul decided to withhold sex until I said it right. I'd have to get her to write it down for me.

While Dixie was striking sexy poses and swaying her hips, Paul thought that'd be a great time to get to know her. God, I love that about him. He didn't want to let her rub all over him without getting to know her first. Of course, Paul made the mistake of asking if Dixie was her real name. Most strippers, if not all, go by a stage name. It's just safer. Her retort was to ask him if those were his real eyelashes. I wished I could have had a good laugh over that one, but I was one to talk; my own eyelashes are pretty lush as well. Paul smacked my knee, reminding me that I had no reason to laugh. Yeah, I know, Paul. I know. We're both pretty boys. Whatever.

Anyway, I like a girl with sass. She danced over to me and put her cowboy hat on my head, using it to include me in the act she was about to perform on Paul. To punctuate it, Dixie placed her hands behind her head and stuck her tits out, rolling her hips like she was fucking somebody. The rhythm she kept was hypnotic; not even innocent little Metro could keep his eyes off her.

And what did my uptight little boyfriend do next? (If I can call him that... my boyfriend. Help me God, I actually want to.) He tried to arrange for counseling for her at the church if she felt she needed it. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Paul, you are too much," I told him, and meant it. He was just so damn cute with that shit, always trying to save everyone, even those who don't need saving. It didn't seem to me that Dixie was in this line of work because Daddy couldn't keep his hands to himself. She stripped because she enjoyed the power it gave her. She performed lap dances because they were an expression of, well, her creativity, if you can understand what I mean. The girl liked to dance provocatively, to put sex in it, to take off her clothes. That's not really something you can do dancing on Broadway, I don't think. Some people are just really sexual. I know what that's like.

Dixie seemed to confirm what I had been thinking, telling Paul that she was okay, no counseling needed, and gave him a wink. She ran her fingers through Paul's hair. "It's sweet that you're concerned about me, really it is. But you don't have to be worried," Dixie said. "I'm not a broken little girl." It seemed like she was telling the truth. I usually read people pretty well. I watched as she knelt before Paul and began to stroke his knees and thighs, getting him really heated up. The way his chest heaved, it was obvious. I wished somehow we could arrange for her to go down on him - would that ever be a hot thing to watch! Maybe I could even join in. Surely Paul wouldn't object if we were both licking and sucking his dick down; two heads are better for giving head, right?

Dixie only fueled my little fantasy by speaking low to Paul, saying, "You're both really hot," and assuring us that the lap dance would be her pleasure. It was the third or fourth time she'd said that we were both attractive. I couldn't help but let out a, "Woo!" in response. This girl may be getting a couple of return customers.

We spoke for a minute about the song she'd picked; it was that song that proved to me that artistry is one of the reasons Dixie strips. Most strippers work in fast, loud songs. The ones who dance to slow, sultry numbers are the ones who actually care about more than just getting on and getting off. Laps, that is.

As if to prove my point, Dixie got lost in the music and swayed her hips to the beat, eyes closed for a short time. My dick got a little harder just watching those hips sketch figure-eights in the air. There were a few other guys in the room, but they were all, um, busy, so I had no qualms with getting in on the action. That's what this was all about, right? Me and Paul. So I reached in and started stroking his thigh. He breathed out, twitching under my hand briefly; my dick got even more ready for what I was pretty sure was going to happen in the back of my car later.

That's when the clothes started to come off and everything ramped up for the main event. Untying the knot in her shirt, Dixie stopped to rub at her nipples before taking her top off, showing us the pink lacy bra underneath. She stroked her hands over her tits again, moaning and biting her bottom lip, and I couldn't help but moan too, it was just so hot.

She unbuttoned the short-shorts and slipped two fingers in there, simulating that she was touching herself. Eyes closed, she moaned, "Mmmmm," and moved her fingers up and down. I have no idea if she was really stroking her clit, but it sure looked like it. Dixie took her hand out and licked off her first two fingers slowly. "Mmm, oh yeah," she purred.

"Damn," I breathed.

The shorts and bra came off. The girl stood there in only a pink sequined G-string and cowboy boots. Nice! I entertained myself with a few more fantasies of what I'd really like to do with her and Paul. Man, I just couldn't contain myself anymore. I reached over, grabbing Paul's dick through his jeans, and stroked every inch of him through the stiff fabric.

"Dean," he moaned. The helpless look on his face told me he was mine, all mine, so turned on and flushed across the cheeks. I didn't care who saw, I leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

When I looked up, some guy standing over by the curtained doorway caught my eye. Very strange, the way he was just standing there, back totally linear, arms straight down at his sides, brow furrowed and staring at Paul and I like he had no idea what we had just done. Guy even tilted his head like a curious dog. Smirking, I stroked Paul's crotch faster. If he wanted something to look at...

Ever the businesswoman, Dixie took care of it. The process was as quick and efficient as any of the strip clubs I've been in. She caught the eye of the bouncer near the door, pointed at the peeper, and ran her fingers across her neck in a cutting motion. The bouncer looked at Mr. Peeper and actually jerked as if someone had startled him. "Where the hell did you come from?!" that motion said. Was the dude that slippery? He took the peeping tom by the arm and simply walked him out.

Nah-nah nah, nah, nah-nah nah, nah, hey hey hey, goodbye! Only big spendin' buckaroos allowed in here. I turned my attention back to the show.

Dixie had some great tits. They were just spectacular. She laid down on the floor and struck several arousing poses while moving to the music. Then she slipped her fingers into the G-string and simulated masturbation again, although I'm not sure she was faking this time. A little G-string like that leaves little to the imagination. I could see her fingers working under that sliver of fabric, but I can't say what she was actually doing with them. Those girls have special slight-of-hand skills. Of course, Dixie moaned like she had been going to town the whole time.

As hot as that was, it had to end for the main show to start. She got up and crawled on all fours toward Paul's chair. It was like a sleek, muscled tiger stalking an innocent gazelle. Dixie even surprised me when she ran her hands up Paul's thighs, interlocked her fingers with mine, and efficiently extracted my hand from his crotch to make room for herself. What she did next blew my mind a little. She put her mouth on Paul's dick through his pants and worked her lips over it, even moaning like performing a good blowjob was just what this girl needed to get herself off. Paul let out this shocked, aroused cry that almost made me laugh. My boy hadn't expected that! Hot damn! I wondered if Dixie treated all her clients this nice.

Next, she mounted him and pinned him down by the wrists because she knew we both liked it. Dixie let him go, trusting him to keep his hands out of groping range, and began to ride his lap. Back and forth, slow and steady. Paul went crazy. He really lost his cool. I never thought I'd be able to get him to moan and pant like that in public, but we'd found just the right combination of anonymous and dimly lit to get him to loosen up. I'm sure the alcohol didn't hurt either.

The boom-chicka music just kept going. How long was this song anyway?

Part of Paul losing his cool was him losing control of his empathy. I felt him in my head, riding wave after wave of pleasure. In return, I allowed him to drink in my own excitement, how much I wanted him, what I might like to do to him when given the chance. I think even Dixie got some of the rebounding feelings. Whoops.

Watching Paul writhe helplessly kept me hot and horny. What was I supposed to do with myself? We couldn't have a threesome with her. Oh no, that would be frowned upon. I wound up resting my head on my arms and just watching him with rapt interest. Paul reached out and stroked my cheek. It wasn't fazing Dixie at all, so why not? She even did the same thing right after, trying to keep me part of the experience. I appreciated it. I also appreciated watching her run her hands up and down Paul's chest and knowing how nice that sweater felt, so fuzzy and warm and soft... I covered this already, didn't I? Who cares. It bears repeating. Oh does it ever bear repeating.

I could tell when Paul was about to cum. You get to know how he sounds, how deep he pants, how quick his moans come, how much he shakes. I wanted to be part of it, so I reached over and took hold of his closest hand. It was the most I could do under the circumstances, and it seemed inadequate, but the way Paul looked at me... I knew we'd made the connection I was going for. He came almost right after, so handsome and sexy and spent right out. _God._ He even made this needy sound that I swear was a whine.

Dixie got up to get her clothes. I took the moment to give Paul a good kiss and cuddle and let him know how hot it was to watch him get off.

I gave Dixie a tip and she told us to come back soon, calling us "cuties." Yeah, I think she might've been telling the truth when she said she thought we were hot.

Paul started going on about a stripper dressed as a flapper. When Dixie and I looked, there was no one there, but she knew what he was talking about anyway. Seems the club has its own ghost stripper. Some chick from the 1920s. Dixie laughed and told us they had come up with some sort of legend about the ghost that if you saw her, you were going to get laid that night.

Oh yeah, Miss 1920s Stripper picked the perfect guy to which to make an appearance, because Paul was about to get one-hundred percent _fucked_. My dick was still hard as a rock.

I hardly remember the drive from the club to some dark, out-of-the-way place where we could have more privacy. Some park or something. I could not _wait_ to get inside him. Could. Not. _Wait!_ The little minx even had the gall to stroke my thigh just like I'd done to him on the drive over. Wuff!

Clothes went flying everywhere as we climbed into the back seat. Paul played with me some more by pinning my arms down and kissing me; I let him have a little bit of control, but we all know he's a submissive bottom and likes it that way. He pretended to give me a lap dance and we shared a little pillow talk before I wrestled him down onto the seat and started to strip off the rest of his clothes.

I'm not sure Paul knew just how provocative and desirable he looked just lying there, all flushed and overheated, half naked and half hard. Couldn't help myself. I couldn't even get him nude before I had to fuck him. The power he has over me is scary sometimes. Paul still had some cum on his cock from the lap dance; I immediately licked it off, giving the head of his cock a nice suck before I went for the lube I'd brought. Yeah, I thought ahead! We love this shit. It warms up when it comes in contact with skin. I gave his cock a good lube-down (oh the way he looked at me when I did that, eyes rolling back in his head a little) and then did the same to myself. I couldn't even take the time to strip my pants off, just pushed them down off my hips and got myself ready. Shit, I wanted him!

When I laid on top of him and parted his legs with a couple of nudges, Paul instantly raised his sweet little ass for me, searching for the head of my cock. Does he do that shit on purpose or does he really not know how much that readiness turns me on?! I slid up inside him and it felt like coming home, such a perfect fit. Mmmm. Sometimes I wish it could go on forever.

Paul wrapped one leg around my waist and I started to fuck, slow and steady, like Dixie's boom-chicka song. I even held his hand during it, and we kissed. As bad as I wanted to take him hard and fast, it was still gentle and slow almost the whole way through.

Dude, this was not good. I mean, in ways, it was, but... I really think I've got it bad for this guy. I really could love him. How was that going to work?

I came whispering and moaning in his ear.

The amazing thing was that he came too, without me even touching his cock. It was the lube and the friction of me moving on top of him. Me, moving inside him. That was always nice, when we could cum together.

We cuddled and kissed for a couple minutes. That was also nice. Even in the back of my car, it can be romantic... slow... loving. Especially with Paul.

While we cleaned up and started to get dressed, Paul asked me if I had seen the shadow that had passed between the streetlight and my car. I had only seen a quick flash of something move across Paul's face while we were having sex; I guess that had been the shadow. There wasn't anyone outside the car now, so we figured it must've been an animal.

Paul said he wanted to cuddle in bed that night. With Sam back at the apartment, how could we make that happen? I knew just how to do it. My brother loves tacos, especially Jack in the Box tacos, but they make him fart. We'd get him some of those, and when the butt serenade started, I could use it as an excuse to sleep in Paul's room. Genius!

It worked great. I felt completely content with the world. My brother slept safe in the next room, my boyfriend slept safe in my arms. Really, I had no reason to feel such peace; we still couldn't find Dad, and the Mothman was a complete clusterfuck so far.

I was calling this guy my boyfriend. And Sammy knew nothing about it.

Still, I'd managed to keep it from him this long and still get a little snuggle time with Paul. Okay, a lot of snuggle time with Paul. And that wasn't so bad.

Was it?

*****

_Sammy_

 

My brother thought I was an idiot.

It was nearly ten and Paul hadn't come home from the office yet. Dean and I had returned to his apartment hours ago. There wasn't anything to do but watch TV and brainstorm ways to draw out the Mothman. We were coming up with a big fat nothing. The creature only came out when it wanted to, which wasn't at all often.

An old, crappy monster movie came on and I started to give it the MSTie treatment, which sometimes bugged Dean when he wanted to actually watch it. This was one of those times. He kept telling me to shut up. Ha! Served him right. _That_ would show him for lying to me. For ten years. At least _ten years!_ Why wouldn't he tell me the truth?

I wasn't going to let him off the hook. If Dean wanted to go get Paul and fuck his brains out, he was going to have to be the one to make a move. Eventually, he did, cutting out to go "pick Paul up." Yeah, sure. That was all he was going to do.

Of course, they didn't come back for over an hour. Duh, why'd it take so long to make a five minute drive, Dean? Five minutes to get there, five minutes back, that makes ten minutes! I can count! Both of them came in with hair that looked like it had been combed down after a good sweat, smelling like smoke, beer, and some fruity scent. The dress shirt Paul was wearing under his sweater was untucked, which is like a crime to the guy, and they both had these stupid, tired grins on their faces. No, I don't know what people look like when they're fucked out. I had a steady girlfriend for 18 months and never, ever did I see that look. In fact, I'm a virgin!

God, who do they think they're fooling? How much longer was this going to go on? It actually kind of hurts now.

"Where have you guys been? You left like an hour ago," I exclaimed. I wasn't going to make it easy for them.

Dean tossed me a bag from Jack in the Box. "We stopped at a bar, Mother. That okay with you? I needed to unwind."

"Wish you'd told me that. I could have used a beer."

Paul winced at my tone. He was kind of caught in the middle, but that was too bad, wasn't it?

"Sorry, little bro."

"There may be one in the back of the fridge," Paul offered.

"Whatever." I looked in the bag. "At least you had the good sense to get me some food too. Was that a big hardship for you, remembering me?"

Dean really was this thick, wasn't he? He had no idea that I knew. "Sammy, what's gotten into you? You're like a bear tonight."

I started to retort, something about knowing what had gotten into _him_ lately, but I held it back. Instead, I sighed. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I was just worried when you took so long getting home." At least he remembered how much I like Jack in the Box tacos.

"Sorry, Sammy."

"We'll call next time."

"Sure, sure," I mumbled.

Shortly after, Dean made up some excuse about me getting gassy when I eat tacos and how he'd rather sleep in Paul's room because of it. I said sure and waved him off; the movie we were watching was getting interesting. A few seconds later, I looked up and saw Paul with his hand out, a cold beer in it. He smiled at me. I felt guilty.

I fell asleep on the air mattress before the movie ended. In the middle of the night, I woke up to this awful, chilling feeling I was being watched. _Somebody's in the apartment!_ my instincts screamed. I got one of my handguns and walked through the place, checking the kitchen, the bathroom, but no one was there.

The latch on Paul's bedroom door was broken, so I didn't have to turn the knob; all I had to do was push lightly on the door and it came open a few inches. Peering in, I could see them asleep in the bed, Paul cuddled up to Dean's chest. Wow, this had gone far beyond casual for my brother. He would have to tell me sometime.

I stepped into the room, being as quiet as I could, and checked out every corner and the closet, sweeping it all with the gun out in front of me. Nothing. There was no one there who wasn't supposed to be.

When I came out into the living room, the front door stood open. Holy shit. It definitely hadn't been open before. I swept the room with the gun again, my breath coming out faster, and as before, found no one. What was going on?

As I went to close the door, this wind coming from the hallway struck me in the face. I heard a distinct _whoosh!_ and then, nothing but the usual night sounds of passing cars and chirping crickets. It scared me. I took the time to sweep the hall. Nothing. No one. Although it hadn't helped before, I closed and locked the door.

Telling myself someone had just forgotten to lock the door, I put the gun away and laid back down. Sure, maybe someone had forgotten, but then who had opened it?

Was the Mothman back?

Late night movies were my companion for the next few hours, as I couldn't sleep anymore that night.

I hope Dean tells me the truth soon.

*****

_Keel_

 

Dean came to pick up Paul from work.

Reminded me that I needed to finish transcribing Tape #3047.

Transcribed the rest.

Will have to speak with Evie about possibility of romantic involvement between Dean and Billy Loomis.

Fell asleep eating hummus and pita bread and watching a documentary about penguin mating habits.

*****

_Something to do with the Mason-Dixon line_

 

Let me just get this out of the way: I'm a stripper. Waitress (on occasion), stripper, dancer, psychiatrist, all of those. The whole kit and caboodle.

Some nights in my line of work, you get nothing but creeps. Guys who are average-looking but think they look like Brad Pitt, guys who are just plain ugly but think that they're average-looking. All of them, snickering and slobbering and trying to sneak in a slap on the ass or a free handful of boob. Those guys, I send straight to Smally, our best bouncer. Both of us take great pleasure in seeing jerks get thrown out on their asses.

Other nights, you get a few guys who know exactly how to act. You might even get a few lookers. I swear, this one guy I danced for looked just like a young George Clooney. Cashmere still doesn't believe me about that one. It's not like I could take a picture.

This night, I was the luckiest stripper alive, because I got a two-fer. Two guys, both of them drop dead gorgeous, and easy as pie. I only had to do one, but it was no hardship, let me tell ya.

One of the waitresses called in sick, and she asked me to cover for her. I don't know why Jeremiah agreed to it; he gets a bigger cut out of my stripping and lap dances than what he makes on dollar shots, but maybe he was on his man-period or something. Whatever, I like Gina, so I did it, and we split the tips - the tips I made on the shots, anyway. Jeremiah told me I couldn't ask any of the guys if they wanted lap dances since I was a waitress that night. But if they asked _me_ , I could do them. You can bet I was hinting and flirting and whatever else I needed to do to get them to ask. Now that I think about the whole arrangement, I know Jeremiah's got to have a thing for Gina. And that man-period thing.

We do the dollar shots a lot; customers were more likely to spend money if you get 'em a little liquored up, so Jeremiah started the dollar shots thing after he took over the club in 1992 (or so I've been told). I was making the rounds with a tray of lime-flavored ones with vodka, dressed in the standard Pistol Pete's cowgirl uniform, blam blam, yarhoo. That's when I saw them. Two guys sitting at the bar, both of them hot as Brad Pitt even on a bad day. One had brownish-blond hair and a body I could tell was killer even with all the layers of shirts. His features were absolutely masculine but with a touch of pretty as well, with big full lips and long eyelashes. The other guy wasn't as muscular but he had a nice body himself, with dark brown hair and a kind face. His features were also masculine with a touch of delicate fragility - deep brown eyes and soft, kissable lips. He dressed like a college professor or something, a professor who was trying to seem professional, but casual and hip at the same time. He wore jeans, a dress shirt, and a sweater over that, with a coat.

If I could wheedle these two into a private dance, that one would act like a gentleman. I knew from just looking at him. What a breath of fresh air that would be!

Tonight, I was Dixie. The name went with the outfit. It's not safe to tell them your real name. You could get a stalker or something. It can be scary; Cashmere almost got raped once. It was doubtful I would get any of that kind of trouble out of either of these guys, but you can't be too careful, right? I eventually found out from listening to them that the dark one was named Paul and the feisty one was named Dean, but that's still too personal. I thought of them as Brown Eyes and Rebel.

I came up on the right of Brown Eyes and asked them if they'd like to try a shot. "For a dollar you can take it this way," I explained, pretending I was stuffing the little glass between my girls.

Rebel chuckled. "Sounds like fun, sweetheart." This one, he was the fun one. The one who could get a little wild and rebellious but was ultimately a big sweet bear of a guy. You learn how to read people in my line of work. He wouldn't ever hurt you, but might get a little handsy when worked up.

After giving me a dollar, Rebel dipped his head between my tits and sucked the shot clean out of the glass without tipping it back or anything. Wow, those were some mad suction powers he had there. I guess with lips like those, you would! When he leaned in, I could smell his shampoo and this natural manly smell, and the mixture of both was nice. What a godsend, a guy who smelled good! He looked at his friend and grinned.

I asked Brown Eyes if he wanted to take a turn. Rebel tried to pay for it, but Brown Eyes opted to do the shot the boring way, throwing it back without the glass coming into contact with my girls at all. He looked at the other guy and smirked. They were playing some sort of game with each other, I just didn't know what it was yet. I tried to talk Brown Eyes into a shot taken the fun way, but he rebuffed me again with a statement of explanation that I will never forget as long as I live, it was just that funny and unexpected.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I don't know you, so it would be disrespectful."

Both me and Rebel started laughing. Damn, that was cute. "Disrespectful?" I repeated. "Honey, do you know where you are?"

"He brought me in here," claimed Brown Eyes, hooking a thumb in his friend's direction. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you kept the dollar, though."

That was cute too. He was weird, but in a good way. One way or another, I was going to get him or his friend in the big spender's room. Running a hand under his shirt collar and giving him a light squeeze, I said, "Let me know if you change your mind," and started to walk away.

Rebel asked me to hold up for a second and took another shot off the tray. Well, he had paid me an extra dollar, so why not? When he tried to hand it over to Brown Eyes, he said, "Two drink minimum." Ha! That was funny.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Brown Eyes asked.

"Yeah."

"You know that's not necessary, right?"

Not necessary for what, I wondered? Brown Eyes reminded him to go easy on the alcohol because he was driving. What he said next...

"Oh please, it takes more than a couple beers to affect me," Rebel said, and added, "Besides... you don't think we'll work it off?"

I should have seen it sooner. That exchange should have told me everything. I guess I was distracted by their sizzling good looks.

Brown Eyes got all embarrassed. Again, this reaction should have told me everything I needed to know. The exchange was so flirtatious. I looked from one guy to the other, still not getting it, and decided to move on to the other possible customers at the bar. Still, I made sure they got a good look at my ass. Don't want to be conceited or anything, but my ass looks damn good in those tiny shorts. Took a selfie in a mirror over my shoulder, so I can prove it.

This creep in ratty sweat pants asked for a shot next. I pegged him for a loser with no money immediately; I mean, the pants didn't even have any pockets. Where's he keeping his money with no pockets? You gotta watch out for the guys in sweat pants anyway. They hardly ever wear underwear so they can get off really fast, just like the jerks in basketball shorts. Yuck. Although I paid enough attention to give him his free shot, I was really looking at those two hotties a few seats down at the bar, to see if they would take the bait.

Rebel put an arm around his friend and seemed to be trying to talk him into something. Oh, I hoped it was the something that would make me a quick $25 or more. I heard him say something about "principles," how Brown Eyes had principles and how hot that was. Are these two twisted?

Not long after, I saw Rebel coming my way. Yes! "Hi handsome. What can I do for you?"

"You want to have a little fun?"

YES! Of course I wanted to have a little fun. I made sure to mention how hot he and his friend were at least twice. Guys like to be complimented, but besides that, I wanted to land this one, and land it bad. Rarely did I have a chance at such tempting prospects. I wasn't losing them to somebody else.

He grinned and asked, "Are you available for a lap dance?"

YEEEES! Score! I could get off the floor for a bit and make some easy money. But which one would it be?

Rebel answered my question by pointing to his friend. "I want you to give it to him while I watch. Treat him real nice."

Watching would cost him extra. I made a joke about his friend maybe objecting to the lap dance because it might be against his principles, and he laughed. Hey, he knew Brown Eyes better than I did.

"So how much you want?"

"With you watching, it'll have to be thirty-five bucks."

"Really, just thirty-five?" Rebel took out a small wad of cash and counted out some bills. He gave me $75. Holy shit. "Can you give us a really special show? Make it extra hot? There may even be a tip in it for you."

Hell yeah, I could give him an extra special show for that kind of money! That was pretty good for a lap dance around here. I mean, this wasn't Vegas. Anyway, I took the money and practically ran for the big spender's room to wait for them. For $75, he could have one of my extended mixes to make sure the music lasted long enough for Brown Eyes to get off.

I'm proud of my extended mixes. Got one of the DJs to help me make them. Basically, I took the songs and seamlessly added a few extra choruses and bars, repeating the best parts. That way, if I wanted the guy to have plenty of time to get off, the music wouldn't end in the middle of it. If they're a jerk, I use a shorter song, and when the song ends, I hop off Pop. Ha!

None of these other bitches better steal my extended mixes. Any girl worth her garter knows not to take another stripper's music. This isn't community property, like "Pour Some Sugar on Me" or something. I spent a lot of time picking out my signature tunes.

For the college professor, my special hottie of the night, I chose my fifteen minute mix of Royksopp's "Sparks." It's not your normal strip club tune, but it's got the perfect beat for a nice, slow lap dance. That gave him plenty of time to pop his cork.

When they entered the room, I could swear Rebel was holding the other guy's hand, but they let go so quickly I couldn't be sure. Luckily, they did more to tip me off to the nature of their relationship. Once you know things like that, you can try to build a rapport, which can result in repeat customers. I'd love to make these two part of my regulars. It never hurts to have gorgeous big spenders on your list of regulars.

Brown Eyes took a seat in one of the lap dance booths and his boy pulled up a chair to watch. I just came out and asked him if he'd ever had a lap dance before; I would have been surprised if he had. Some guys just have that look. I didn't see 'em often, but I still knew the look. All nervous and innocent. Brown Eyes started looking around the room and I saw the moment when he realized what his friend had done to him. His eyes went wide and he started to panic. When he looked at Rebel, he just smirked back, very satisfied with himself. I wanted to ask Brown Eyes what he thought we were going to do back here, start a knitting circle?

We established that Brown Eyes had not had a lap dance before. Wow, the guy had to be at least thirty. Why the sheltered life? Even good-looking dudes who never hurt for romantic company enjoy strip clubs. Well, if he'd never had one before, then I had to give him the rules. No touching, no groping, everything was strictly hands off from his side.

Once he'd sat down, Brown Eyes' brown eyes began to get that watery look one gets when their alcohol is treating them just fine. He looked like he was feeling pretty good at that point. I liked him like that. A little loose and sassy and easy to control.

I made a little joke to him, again playing on the fact that he'd said it would be disrespectful to get too familiar with me. "As you're a man with principles, I think I can trust you to stick to the rules."

This slow, tipsy grin spread across his face. "Technically, that was only one rule." He looked at Rebel. "I didn't feel right about taking the shot from between her breasts, and you think _this_ is going to be okay?"

Oh, it was going to be okay. Even I knew that.

They teased each other, going back and forth with a verbal tit-for-tat until Brown Eyes said, "I didn't realize you were such a voyeur." His tone was so suggestive, so... familiar, you know? Like he was flirting with him. That was the next indicator that made me question their relationship. I didn't have to wait more than a few seconds to learn everything I needed to know.

Rebel stood up, stretching sinuously, and it was dead sexy. I thought he was doing it for me, but no, that was definitely not for me. He said, "Now, if he gets at all handsy with you, here's a good way to put him in his place." With lightning reflexes, Rebel grabbed his friend's wrists and threw them up over the other man's head, pinning them to the seat. Completely taken by surprise, Brown Eyes gasped, eyes going wide, and I swear to God he _moaned_. The force by which he pinned him was so hard that the booth banged against the wall. No one paid much attention since they were otherwise "occupied," but Smally did look over and raise an eyebrow at me. I had about the same expression after that one. Were these two...?

I watched to see what they would do next. Rebel put his hands over his boy's and that time, they were definitely holding hands. I couldn't see Rebel's face, but I could see a bit of Brown Eyes', and the way he was looking at him... Oh yeah, they wanted to fuck each other right then and there. Brown Eyes even shifted in his seat, biting his lip. Uh huh, yeah. I had them.

They were lovers.

You'd be surprised how many bisexual/bicurious people we get at the club. Often, it was male/female couples where the woman wanted to watch or the man wanted me to get his girl off, but sometimes we got the boy/boy match-ups. Not a problem. I'm not usually a fan of the guy-on-guy action, but thinking of those two together kinda turned me on. Two hotties look hotter together, right?

They looked at me and they knew that I knew then. Brown Eyes seemed worried at first, but Rebel just looked at me with a smirk on his face. Then he sat back down and waited for the show, like he was daring me to refuse. I wasn't going to do that. I've got no problem with any way in which people love each other. Love is too rare in this world.

Two things happened then that will make me remember these two even if they never came back. The first was that when Rebel sat back down, the light overhead hit his eyes just right for me to see that they were the most beautiful shade of crystal green I've ever seen. No wonder Brown Eyes couldn't help himself. I wouldn't mind looking into eyes like that while he hammers it to me. The other thing, I'm not even sure how to describe, it was just that weird. It actually felt like someone else was inside my head. The feeling was tingly and warm, and sort of... well, I can only describe it as searching. Like someone was searching my mind. I had the distinct feeling that all of this was coming from Brown Eyes. How was something like that even possible? He was looking right at me with his brow knitted the whole time I felt it. I don't know why it didn't completely freak me out. All I felt was calm. Was it some sort of psychic thing or just my imagination?

This is where I put on my mix and the show got underway. "Sparks" just does things to me, but all my songs do things to me, or I wouldn't do private dances to them. I've made a few videos to see how I look when I strip and I don't feel that I'm being conceited when I say that I can dance pretty damn sexy when I have the right song. I put my iPod in dock and as soon as the first notes started up, I began to work my hips.

This is also where Brown Eyes began to work his mouth. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Dixie," I responded, and tried to distract him with my movements. This part can be tricky with some guys, because they can become really insistent to get all your personal details. Like I said before, that just isn't safe.

"Is that your real name?"

Ugh... "Are those your real eyelashes?" Guys who don't know the rules about personal questions kinda get on my nerves. Luckily, Rebel kept the mood light by treating it like a joke. To reward him for helping me out with his uptight boyfriend, I let him wear my cowboy hat for a bit. He looked up at me and the light caught his eyes again. Damn, they were pretty.

Brown Eyes didn't know when to stop. Turns out he wasn't a college professor. He kept asking questions about why I strip, did it have anything to do with daddy's busy hands, and then brought up "the church." Oh, so _that's_ why he was so sheltered and concerned with "disrespect." Brown Eyes was on a mission to save the whore! How many times had I seen that? Except, the religious missionaries didn't usually agree to a lap dance bought for them by their rebel _boyfriend_. Was this one confused or what? Did he want to save me or cum on me? Even his boyfriend laughed at that one and told him he was "too much."

It only made me want to push him, to challenge him to just try to "save" me. Here he was, sitting in my chair, waiting for his lap dance, and he had the gall to offer _me_ religious counseling. Ooh, Brown Eyes was going to get my best show, and he was going to _like_ it. It's always the uptight ones that make the biggest perverts.

First, I knelt in front of him and rubbed his thighs. Brown Eyes loved it. His breathing sped up and his legs began to shake. I made sure to let him know that I thought they were both hot; I wasn't sure if he'd heard me say that before. He really started to heat up then. Even Rebel let out a "Woo!" when he saw me touching his boy so intimately. He certainly did like watching, didn't he?

Rebel also liked touching. While I started to take off my clothes, he put his hand in his boyfriend's lap and at first, just rubbed his thigh. I gave them my extra special show - just because they couldn't touch me didn't mean I couldn't touch myself. I started with my tits, teasing my nipples through my clothes. It would move on to more later. From the straighter-than-straights to the bi guys like these, men love it when a girl touches herself. They get off on watching.

More clothes came off, and I pretended to stroke my clit. They loved that too. Guys always love that. Brown Eyes looked down a couple of times, shy and nervous, but then he couldn't take his eyes off me. As I started to remove my bra, Brown Eyes got all overheated and moaned his lover's name. Rebel leaned over and kissed him, and damn, it was exciting. I never thought that I even liked that kind of stuff, but there was just such need in the way he said "Dean." The answering kiss was so passionate and heartfelt that it was one of the most romantic things I've ever seen in this club, ever. Suddenly, I felt like I should be paying _them_.

Of course, the fact that Rebel started touching his boy's cock through his pants could've added to the feeling that _they_ were the ones putting on a show.

A dude standing over by the door caught my eye. He had pretty much come out of nowhere. The guy had on a trench coat. Ugh. You gotta watch out for the ones wearing trench coats. Especially if you can't see any pants sticking out from under the coat. At least this one had pants on. He was just standing there and staring at my customers. I'm pretty sure he had been there long enough to see them kiss, and it seemed to confuse him greatly. That's the only way I can put it. The guy didn't look grossed out, or horrified, or even turned on - he just looked confused. I signaled to Smally to get rid of him, and he did. The guy went willingly and without a sound. It takes all kinds.

Rebel saw the guy, but I'm not sure Brown Eyes even noticed. He was way too into what Rebel and I were doing to him. The more these two got off on me, the more show I wanted to give them. I even laid on the floor and "masturbated" some more. This time, I really did stroke my clit a little. I probably broke some laws with that one, but I'm pretty sure there was no one around who would tell on me. They were just so hot! I couldn't stop thinking about that kiss.

I watched the lump in Brown Eyes pants grow exponentially, and that was when I knew I had to get this lap dance going. We were all going to get thrown in the clink if I had allowed Rebel's groping to continue. I made sure I turned the heat way up before I mounted him, though. They watched me crawl to the booth and get Rebel's hand off the fun zone; I replaced his hand with my mouth, using my lips to give Brown Eyes a pseudo-blowjob through his jeans. He cried out so loud I thought he was going to cum right there. It was awesome. The fifteen minute mix would do just fine!

Rebel wanted to feel like he was involved in this, and I wanted him to feel the same. Once I'd mounted Brown Eyes' lap, I pinned him to the booth just as Rebel had done; that way, Rebel could imagine he was the one in his lover's lap, maybe rubbing against him, or if his imagination was really good, that he was fucking him. I'm sure I pegged that right - Rebel had to be the top and Brown Eyes the bottom. He kept his arms resting on the top edge of the booth and I began to grind on him, bucking slowly in his lap to the beat of my song.

Damn, but he liked it; I could feel how hard he was underneath me. All men should make such arousing noises when they're turned on. So many of them sound like morons when they moan. These two didn't. I couldn't help but get even more turned on from watching and listening to them. Seriously, if they'd asked for my phone number, I would have considered giving it to them.

Thinking back, I realize now that the weird feeling of having someone else in my head came back to me when I started to ride Brown Eyes. At the time, I was too wrapped up in making this guy's first lap dance the best he would ever have to really notice. Besides, it felt so damn good that I didn't care. Now, though, I wish I could figure out what happened there.

Brown Eyes reached over and stroked Rebel's cheek, and I did the same right after, just to keep that line of contact open. I ran my hands over Brown Eyes' chest, feeling his soft sweater and the warmth underneath, and I wondered how it felt to be Rebel, caressing this cute, corruptible "good boy." Dominating him, making him beg, stripping his clothes off and fucking his sweet, pouty mouth with my dick before hammering it to him, hearing how much he needs me with those lustful fucking moans.

Wait, my dick? Did that come from Rebel? Shit, these two were getting to me, getting deep into my brain. I'd probably spend the next few nights watching the door, hoping they would visit the club again very, very soon.

Brown Eyes seemed about to cum. Everything in him was working faster and harder, and he shook like an overloaded machine about to explode. His lover took hold of his hand, another romantic gesture, and I held his face in my hands as he neared the edge. For good measure, I put my tits practically in his face. He came, panting and whining while Rebel took it all in. I made sure I milked his orgasm for all it was worth, drawing it out, making it as good as possible. When it was over, I kissed his cheek.

In general, they're not supposed to cum. However, we do have the discretion to allow it if we want to, either because they paid well or we just like them enough to let it happen. If you were with the city and you came into the club and asked me about that, I wouldn't know what the hell you were talking about.

I gave him some time to get the feeling back in his legs (heh heh) and went to get my clothes. Of course, as I watched Rebel talk his lover down and kiss his mouth, what I really wanted to do was rip my G-string off and jump in Rebel's lap. He had to be worked up from watching his boy get off. Anyone would be! How good would it have felt to be fucked by him at that moment? Just yank his nice big dick out of his pants and stick it right in me! _I wish he was in Dixie, hooray, hooray! May be a sin, but stick it in, oh please go down on Dixie! Away, away, away down south on Dixie!_ Boy, what a party that would be.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that type of club, and he was all set to fuck his brown-eyed one. Either that or get a nice blowjob from him. I would have paid to watch, I honestly would. Jesus, what had these two awakened in me?

Restraining myself, I kissed Rebel on the cheek too and took back my hat. He tipped me another twenty bucks. Awesome tip! Gorgeous and a big spender. He may be my new favorite customer. I told them to come back soon, and if I could have underlined that request a million times, I would have.

To top it all off, Brown Eyes said something to me about "the flapper" watching him from a nearby booth. When we all looked, there was no one there. He had seen our ghost, some red-headed stripper from the 1920s who was hit by a streetcar and has been haunting the club ever since. At least, that's what the legend says. I don't know if that's really how she died.

The legend also says that if you see her, you're about to get laid. Those lucky bastards!

After they left, I couldn't cool down. I couldn't cool down at all. There was no way I could just put that cowgirl outfit back on and go out there and pretend I wasn't totally keyed up. Instead, I put on a short silky robe and hid in the dressing room until Baby came back there. I don't consider myself gay or even bi, but there's this new stripper we have named Baby (her stage name) who's been with us for a couple months, a real cute girl. She had been trying to get me in the sack for weeks. Maybe I was leading her on, maybe it was mean, but I needed to get off.

She kept asking if she could practice her lap dance skills on me. That night, I let her. We found a place in the back, I sat down, opened my robe, spread my legs, and let her rub all over me. Since no one was watching (busy night, no strippers hanging around in the back), I even let her suck my tits. She humped my clit until I had an orgasm. It felt pretty good, but... shit. I know Baby wants seconds, but I don't know if she'll get it.

Brown Eyes and Rebel, or should I say, Paul and Dean, were really cute together. I hope they come see me again real soon.

*****

_Trench Coat Peeper_

 

I was sent down to observe. At this point, I must avoid making contact. I cannot interfere. I am required to observe and form an opinion on what is broken and what is working in this chaotic grouping of warriors.

Many members of the Inner Circle were already dead. This was not good. The forces of evil were made aware of the prophecies and have been working for years to separate and destroy. There are weaknesses in both Circles yet. Perhaps I should have been sent down sooner.

I'm thinking now that when I entered the establishment to watch them, I should have made myself invisible. Others who were there didn't react well. The woman who named herself for something to do with the Mason-Dixon Line thought I was a pervert. She was wrong. That had no relevance to why I was there.

I don't understand the relationship between Michael's vessel and the Relic. (That had become our code word for the weapon. I hope the evil ones haven't figured that out as well.) It seemed strange that they be in an establishment that was only meant for carnal pleasure, but when I saw them together, I found there were even stranger things going on.

The first thing was that Michael's vessel had purchased an act of carnality for the Relic. This woman, Dixie, was supposed to rub her body against him for his sexual pleasure. It was a very odd thing to do, but I must remember that these vessels are human. Humans are slaves to their need for pleasure. It seems like the act would be more productive if they weren't clothed at all, but they maintained some amount of modesty. I'm not sure I understand the rules and customs in these dens of iniquity.

The second thing was that shortly after I entered, the two men kissed and one touched the other quite inappropriately. At that point, both had become sexually aroused from the gyration of the half-naked dancer, and they felt it necessary to express these feelings physically. This confused me. Because he is Michael's vessel, Dean Winchester is destined to protect the human race and especially the Relic, but this goes beyond what we had expected of him.

They love each other. All right, I can accept love, but the love has become romantic in nature. We knew Dean had a substantial sex drive, but directed at Paul Callan? The sex appeared to be reaching levels of recklessness that we never believed were possible with a man like Paul. It has distracted him from his mission in life. Should we allow it to continue? Did it help keep Dean focused on protecting the Relic if he feels this affection for him? It did seem to be keeping him here, close to Paul and the center of it all. However, would it keep Paul focused on what he had to do as well? Love and affection between people does keep them together and focused on doing good things. _Sometimes._

What confused me the most was that we didn't have to engineer this relationship. Dean Winchester and Paul Callan formed a romantic coupling completely on their own. A fourth-dimensional being brought them into close proximity, yes, but everything else was all their own doing. It could have simply been a platonic partnership to save humanity. Instead...

After they left the hedonistic pit, I assumed they would go back to Paul Callan's home, but instead, they parked the car near a grouping of trees and had sex in the backseat. Sex between men doesn't happen as naturally as between men and women, but they found a way, and it appeared to be just as pleasurable. They seem conflicted about it, as they're keeping their relationship secret from several people (including the Abomination). Even so, the sex was just as enthusiastic as it would have been if the whole world knew.

Although I saw them in the car, and I felt every bit of their passion for each other, I'm still confused as to how this came together, and why. As I said, it was nothing we expected.

I needed to continue my observation.

The Relic sung from inside him. The beacon became stronger when Paul was in the throes of ecstasy. I felt drawn to it. This might have caused me to move too close to the car. Unfortunately, they saw my shadow. Nothing became of it, though. They thought I was a bird.

I am not a bird.

I am an angel of the lord.

 

 

(c) 2014 Demented Stuff/The Pleasure of the People

 

**Author's Notes:** I must acknowledge two stories that had an influence on this one. First, back in 2006, I prompted someone to write a story of this theme (Dean buying Paul a lap dance) and my LJ friend **meredevachon** took me up on the challenge. She wrote [Afternoon Delight](http://meredevachon.livejournal.com/71098.html) for me. It's pretty funny with lots of hot imagery! I've also been kind of fixated on characters who look like Skeet and lap dances since K-kitty and I wrote [Restless Knight](http://dementedstuff.com/nepc/restknight.htm) back when we used to roleplay original characters by email. (Skeet is Edge's live action model.) It's become one of my favorite mental images. Over the years, I've always wanted to write this story and tell it from multiple first person perspectives. The story came back to me in August for some reason and I finally got it written.

Thanks to my friends on LJ for helping me with how much alcohol it would take to get Paul a little drunk. I don't drink much and I don't hang out with people who drink much either, so I wasn't sure.

Dixie's cowgirl look was inspired by [this picture](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/sailorhathor/858811/318470/318470_original.jpg) of actress Arielle Kebbel. Although, as described in the story, the outfit would be much skimpier. Also, I imagine her looking like actress Jennifer Lawrence with blonde hair.

If you're curious about the song "Sparks" by Royksopp, you can hear it by watching this video on Youtube:

[Sparks by Royksopp](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xFfIAmtPUB4)

I first heard it when it was used in an episode of "Medium." I thought wow, that is some major porn music right there. I've always wanted to use it in a story.

Unfortunately, this is the only good song ever put out by Royksopp. :D

Beta'ed by [**alaniesanar**](http://alaniesanar.livejournal.com/). Thanks very much! You really helped me flesh out this story, even to the point that the strip club is a character as much as the people.  



End file.
